Most Daring Thing
by New Greed
Summary: It had been the most daring thing I would ever do.


It had been the most daring thing I would ever do: fuck a girl under Mom's roof. Or more specifically on Mom's roof. At the time, I had been seventeen, pissed at the world, and full of hormones. Though my dick didn't control my mind all of the time, that night it had.

I had told her to meet me at the party, and, being my oldest friend besides Stevie, she had showed up early and waited in the front lawn for me before going in. She had been dressed in a dark green, tank-top dress and a sheer tunic, both of which only came down to half a foot below the apex of her legs, and a pair of loose-fitting, rough-leather brown boots with buckles around the ankles. And boy had she been surrounded by a forest of other guys—more than half the football team was trying to talk to her at once, trying to get their hands on her in any way possible so they could drag her away and have caveman sex with her behind some bushes.

By some amazing feat of her super-human sight, she saw me through the broad shoulders and thick chests of the jock-strappers. When she laid eyes on me, as I was marching up the walkway towards her, with my hands in the pockets of my black jeans and regretting wearing my dark, thick-stripped hoodie, her beautiful lips spread over white teeth and she waved. Reaching the outer ring of strapping teenagers four and five times my size, I waved back with a smile-full-of-suck on my lips. Reaching carefully through the forest of no-necks and beefy jaws, I spread my hand wide and stretched out for her.

Her hand was warm in mine, black painted fingernails wrapping around my palm and wrist as she chose me. Out of all of the guys there, out of all of the testosterone, chiseled chins and chests, thick arms, and lungs developed for running, she had chosen me.

The crowd parted around her as I pulled her to me, the jocks snarling, sneering as they realized that I was taking the sweet meat off of the market. "Hey, Malcolm." Her voice is embarrassed, not by me—never by me—but by all of the people staring at us as they stumble outside drunk or steal inside to get drunk.

"Hey." Thank God my voice didn't crack, for if it had I surely would have turned around and left right then and there. Now that she's much closer to me, her face bathed in a mixture of moonlight, porch lights, and headlights, I take in her wild beauty. She's got on sparkling, black eye shadow and mascara; both highlight her green eyes and make them shine. She doesn't ever wear lipstick so I'm beyond shocked and beyond pleased when I notice the light shine off of clear lip gloss when she smiles at me.

Her hands grip my upper arms and massage the muscles that I'd been working on for the last year or so. "Wow, Malcolm, you look _amazing_ in this jacket! I love it!" Her comment makes my self-esteem jump to a new notch. I no longer regret wearing the jacket; no longer regret saving my money up to buy it because I thought she would like it.

"Let's go inside before all of the beer is gone." She gives me a small smile, one that tells me she isn't thrilled about our pact to get drunk for the first time ever tonight. I give her a one-armed squeeze around the waist, successfully pulling up her tunic and dress a good two inches, then I lead us inside.

The house belongs to some friend of a friend of her's, and it's only by that connection that I'm walking into the house with my arm around the hottest girl there. The music's loud, the bass makes the floor thump and shudder and the walls quiver. Way too many people are crammed into the house to be anything less than a big pain in the ass, but I navigate us to the kitchen by some miracle. "You want to start now?" Her voice is small beside me, but I hear her as though she's screaming at the top of her lungs. I reassure her that I'd be drinking too; that I would watch out for her and make sure she didn't do anything stupid. She laughs, pointing out that I might not know exactly what stupid is by the time we were plastered.

The kitchen is packed, full of swimmers trying to see who can do the best keg-stand with their better-than-average lungs. We stand and watch, amused, but also disgusted by the fact that we were supposed to be drinking out of the same keg after they were done. Without speaking to one another we move on, down into the basement full of pot-smoke and porn to find the stash of canned beer in the corner by a dirty couch.

I take up a whole case of the stuff I always see Dad drinking when Mom isn't looking, bring it over to her. The case makes the middle of the couch the low point, so our bodies become slightly more compressed together when I take the rightful place between her and the beer. She looks nervous, I know I look nervous. But my agitation flees when she bends low over my lap to get two beers from the case. With a smile on her face, she lightly shakes them both before placing one between her knees and popping open the other one with a hiss that reminds us both of devils and demons and things with horns.

"You go first." Once more, her hand is warm as we share a touch over the cool, sweating surface of the can. I cannot take my eyes off of the beautiful face that watches me so intently as I raise the can to my lips and chug like it's just another Pepsi and we're at lunch in the cafeteria. The alcohol burns my throat as it makes its way down, destroying all sensation until I take a breath and pass the can back to her. Questioning me about how it tasted and if I was 'crunk' yet, she looks so concerned and worried and relieved and hopelessly happy that it didn't kill me that I want to break our pact and remove her from this horrible place.

I tell her that it's fine, that she has nothing to worry about and before I finish she's chugging the half that I didn't. When she's done, takes that life-giving breath afterwards, a full-body shiver moves throughout her. I find myself wondering how much alcohol she can take, how much I can take, how much we can take before we have to force ourselves to leave so we don't do anything morally insane or life threatening.

Once we get used to the Hellish burning of the alcohol sliding down our throat holes, we easily go through five more cans. We're talking the whole time, about everything we can think of, still intelligent and on the same page as the other one. Both of us can tell that the other was having one of the best times of their lives, so we continued on our merry way to keep any outside stimuli from interrupting us.

But our peace only lasts for about three hours, and is broken by the football team's quarterback. The Hulk practically falls down the stairs into the basement, almost breaking his no-neck in multiple places. He straightens himself up, brushing off dirt and a spider's web, and then notices us staring at him. Or more to the point, he notices _my_ girl staring at him. The look that spreads across his drunk-ass face as he locks his sights on her is evil and horny and hostile.

Assessing the situation, she places her hand on my thigh, moves it slowly toward my junk that seems to ignite with hormones. My face gets hot, and only grows hotter when her fingers stroke my base through my clothing. I jump up off the couch, half shocked to death that she's actually touching me like that and half understanding her desperate want to get out of the room that we're sharing with a stoned guy who's asleep and the jock that looks like he would rape her if I wasn't right beside her and coherent.

Just as the jock reaches her, I react to her distress. Taking up her hand in a tight, protective grip, I tell the jock to go fuck himself. Puffing out his chest, he takes a powerful swing at me, misses me by a foot and a half. My girl is laughing at him like that was the funniest thing she's ever seen while I'm simultaneously growing more and more furious over how this guy just broke into a silent, perfect world and shattered it. Noticing how my muscles tense under her fingers, she pushes me toward the stairs, forcing me to abandon the no-neck and my anger.

We emerge up top to a room full of stoners and couples having sex. The animalistic noises of moans and gasps, the sounds of flesh smacking softly against flesh arouses me beyond belief. My pants feel like they're going to rip at the seams, the blood rushes from my head down to my nether regions so fast that I lean back against a wall to catch my breath and clear my head. With my hand still wrapped around her's, I wind up pulling her into me when I step back to the wall. Her breasts push against my chest, the apex of her legs under her tunic presses against my erection. "Are you okay, Malcolm?"

"Horny." I say it with a light-heartedness that crosses over successfully.

Pressing herself harder against me, she moves my hands to her ass. It's firm yet soft and round beneath my hands. She smiles coyly at me, moving her breasts in a small circular motion against my chest, "Oh, really?" I know she didn't mean for the words to slur but they did. Even through all of the clothes I know she felt my erection throb for her.

"Orally? I didn't know you swung that way." My hands give her butt a good squeeze, her body jumps against mine. That's when I notice her hands on my belt, unbuckling it. Our cheeks burn red; she bites her bottom lip and presses her forehead to mine. She's watching her fingers as they unzip and unbutton my pants, watch as my manhood falls out between the slip in my boxers and into the palm of her hand. Weakened by arousal, my knees give out slightly and I fall in height about an inch.

Her lips touch mine, despite the difference in height now, and she whispers in a grainy voice something so dirty that I'd never repeat it to anyone ever again. Her body slides down so that she's sitting on her haunches, her fingers are flames upon my flesh, and her tongue is gloriously wet. As she plays with me, gracing my shaft with lips and tongue, I scan the rest of the room with half-lidded eyes. As my sight clears and I manage to focus on the rest of the room past three feet in front of me, she begins to get more into it. She's worked me into her mouth now, all the way down to my black pubic hair. My knees buckle, losing me another inch or two of height as I spot Reese spread out on the living room floor being cow-girled by some brunette chick. They're really into it, grunting and moaning, but they don't seem to be moving in rhythm to one another. Each seems to be their own person instead of one being.

I'm completely fine with my brother and me sharing the same room for the same purpose. That is, until Reese spots me and with a drunken smile stares me down. He wins. I take a grip of my pleasurer's shoulders, pull her body back so that she releases me from between teeth. She stands, not offended, but concerned. "What's wrong?" I'm stuffing myself carefully back behind my zipper, make sure not to close anything in-between metal teeth that are not so forgiving.

Shaking my head at her, my brain slugging through the movements because of alcohol poisoning, "No, I just don't want to be here anymore. Come with me, somewhere safe." Loving my own proposal, I take her face in my palms and kiss her. It's the kiss I've wanted since I discovered that girls didn't really have cooties. All except for the taste of my cock mixing between our tongues.

Agreeing with me, I take her hand again and lead her outside, through the mass of orgasm-ing bodies, and to the front yard. My brain panics! The closest location for me to safely have my way with her is my house—which is the next neighborhood over. My brain panics some more, but before I know anything other than that my legs are moving and they've brought us to my house.

All of a sudden I'm regretting bringing her here, even if it was subconsciously. People are too easily woken in my house, the walls are thin, the floorboards creak, and every door knob turning sounds like a Guillotine being tripped. Not to mention just putting the key into the front door! Oh, boy, has that series of noises gotten me into some trouble. Our next option is her house, but I know that her father owns guns, big, nasty, fill-your-chest-up-with-slugs-in-two-shots types of guns. That option is just not worth it, even with my dick being a vampire toward the rest of my body.

I could get over ultimate arousal, but being dead? Not so much.

But Dewey was just barely more of a heavier sleeper than Reese, and Reese wasn't home. And Francis, well, by all means he was also out of the house without any doubt. Mom was yet again the problem. Dad would understand—he'd been a teen so swamped in hormones that he'd made his way around every girl in town three times over. Mom hadn't. Hadn't done a boy before my father, hadn't kissed a boy before my father. She'd kill me if I brought my sex-romp inside.

She snakes her hand up my shirt, warm fingers heating my cooled flesh. It feels wonderful, reminds me of the real reason my legs have brought me here. "Come on, Malcolm, where are we going?" She sounds like the alcohol is affecting her a little more than before. Her words don't slur anymore but she getting impatient. So am I. The next thought that comes to my mind is why I realize they call me a _genius_. Of course that's where we should do it.

Momentarily discarding her inside of the garage, I hurriedly clear away the clutter around the ladder. In seconds I've managed to get in on a sturdy piece of ground and against the house. Motioning to her, she smiles and waves back, doing a few more hand signals that make us both laugh before she jogs happily over. Her breasts jump up and down as she runs. My chest constricts. I figure I should get onto the roof first before her, to clean off leaves and pull down any stray fireworks or Frisbees or toys that have been up there for years.

My arms and legs jolt me up the ladder faster than I ever would have thought possible, and my brain is just as slow to react when I see all of the shit covering the roof. Abandoned fireworks, half blown and surrounded by gunpowder and bird feathers, decaying piles of leaves that are still wet from the rain storm three weeks ago—no wonder the damn roof is always acting up, and paint stains from the cart of paint my brothers and I accidently dropped on that shiny, new, expensive red car my father had brought home that one day on a whim. But I find a clear spot down by the edge of the roof, decide that that is a good place and steal over to it carefully. She's not that far behind me, the grit on the roof under her weight tells me she's coming toward me.

"Malcolm, what are we doing up _here_?" The question seems too serious, though when I look at her she's smiling so huge and happy as she makes her way down to me that I feel just fine about having brought her up here. She sort of almost stumbles off the roof when she gets to me, our arms go out to each other and we catch ourselves before we both fall. "We can see the stars from here." She stares into my eyes as she tells me this, never looking at the stars in the sky. Maybe she can see my love for her in my eyes; maybe she can merely see the stars' reflection.

She holds my hips as I pull off my hoodie and the black shirt I'd been wearing underneath, begins to kiss my neck as soon as it's uncovered. Her lips leave shiny, lip-gloss stamps on my clavicle and the hollow below my Adam's apple. Squatting down as best as I can I throw my clothes out over the gritty tiles covered in paint. There's no longer a threat of her hurting herself when we…

My mouth finds hers, hands moving to her hips, breasts, shoulders, hair, and the apex of her legs. We both stroke each other for a few minutes, kisses growing harder and more hormone-filled. The chemicals are swirling in my groin, making me harder, longer, thicker than I ever thought I'd be. The effect is similar for her, her folds are slightly wet against my fingertips through her underwear, lips plushy and warm against my mouth.

Our knees are bending simultaneously, our bodies moving to rest on our knees as our hands go around the other's body. Our hips grind slowly and gently against one another, moving in a tantalizing rhythm that makes me want to destroy her with the tool between my legs. But I keep the pace measured and deliberate, and gradually we work down to her bare body, my mouth suckling, licking, drinking every part of her that I can. She's soft and warm, gives away under the pressure of my fingertips as I stroke every part of her.

Soon I have her underneath me, lying upon the jacket that she loved so much upon my shoulders. Her hair is fanned out behind her head, chopped bangs falling perfectly along her forehead. Her hands come up to rub along my shoulders and upper arms, her black nails scratch along my pale skin. As I lock tongues with her, lips moving together in harmony, my hands fumble to unlatch my Batman buckle. I fall out of the slip in the boxers out of sheer weight, grunt a little as the fresh air blows across me.

Positioning myself at her entrance, my hips move gently forward. She winces as my head presses into her, "Malcolm! Go slow." She was so tight, so small. I wondered if I would even begin to fit. Figuring that once I got my head into her I'd be just fine, I continued—though I do drop to a glacial pace. Pain shoots across her face more times then I'd like, but in a few minutes I'm sheathed fully within her.

It's tight, constricting around me with force I hadn't ever expected to be there. But all-in-all it's a good pressure. She's not as wet as I'd thought she would be either, nothing like the porn stars in the videos I'd found under Mom and Dad's bed and watched.

Her heat though, her heat is what really gets me going. It's hottest at my head as I allow her to fully stretch around me. My skin itches for her heat and it's too late before I realize that I've given a subconscious thrust. "Malcolm!" Her nails have dug into my shoulder blades, teeth coming to clamp together as her nose crinkles and eyes close. I tell her I'm sorry, so sorry. I caress her with my lips; whisper my apology against her soft, flushed skin. The beating of her heart pumps through her skin, bringing the heat closer to my lips. She breathes a hitched, half-choked breath against my chest. Wrapping her legs around my waist to place her feet on the inner side of my claves, she pulls them further apart, causes me to practically be sitting on my haunches.

Without permission my hips begin to move, working up gently to a slow grind. Itching for her heat I buck into her harshly. This time she doesn't complain, gives an approving moan as I rub against her sweet spot. My eyes drift down over her body, resting on her breasts that jiggle with each thrust that grows harder and deeper each time. Head dipping down to her chest, I lick at the erect, pink stubs of her nipples, whistle cold air across them. She begins to whisper my name, incoherently at first, then more clearly as we work together to take each other to our ends.

I move to shift my legs as much as she allows me, to achieve greater leverage and get closer to her core. My leg slips, shoots out behind me and slams into the gutter, which gives a squeal as it bends beneath the excessive weight. She gives this full-body cringe, the pain so intense this time that her back arches, and a slight scream pierces the night. My dick throbs inside of her, rubbing both of our ecstasy areas at the same time. I grunt, pound through her despite her silent moans of pain and the way she presses her lips into mine to show me how much she's enjoying this.

We don't hear the front door open under us, I don't really even hear my mother's voice shriek across the night air as she yells my name up to me to get my attention. The only thing I am fully aware of is the surrounding heat and the beautiful eyes below me. My girl is staring over my shoulder, kissing me with every thrust without ever taking her eyes off of the stars. My eyes don't ever leave the reflecting Milky Way in her glossed over eyes. Drinking her in, the voices outside of our personal bubble of hormones and sex grow louder and of different tones.

It's a few more minutes of grinding into her, staring at the mirror galaxy below me, feeling her warm body around my own before I feel the bonfire in my groin explodes into a wildfire that could eat the world. As we climax I buck harshly against her body, she moans my name aloud. The wildfire flashes across my skin, explodes into her to feed her own heat. Her own climax involves a constriction of her legs around my hips, shoving me further into her core than I could have ever achieved.

Our bubble is broken as a stranger's hand wraps around a good fistful of my hair, yanks me with such force that my body is torn from my lover's. With a squelch that echoes endlessly through my mind, we become two separate people once more. The person holding my hair gives me one more yank, putting me dangerously close to the edge of the roof.

"MALCOLM!" It's my mother who has the controlling hold on me, but at this moment in time I don't care. She could bite my throat out right now, I wouldn't care. "What do you think you are _doing_!?! You wake me up in the middle of the night to you _fucking_ some _girl_ on _my_ _roof_!" She pulls my head back so that I'm leaning back towards her. "And GOD DAMN IT! Malcolm! You're not even wearing a CONDOM!! What if this girl gets PREGNANT!"

Trailing down to my cum-slicked erection, my eyes stare down between my legs, a smile creeps onto my lips. Though my bitch-mother's grip doesn't make it comfortable, I turn my head over my shoulder to stare at my galaxy. She's sat up, crossed her ankles to cover her pinker areas. Her hair is wild, breasts erect, face as beautiful as ever. Her eyes still haven't left the stars, she's smiling up at them.

"I love you." It's only after we've said it that we realize that the other one has just spoken the same words.


End file.
